I learnt to cook out of sheer necessity when I moved two continents away from where I call home to pursue higher education. At first, I only cooked to nourish myself and because the McDonald's dollar menu was missing more of those green leafys my mother insisted I have. I had a store-cupboard full of spices my sweet ma lovingly packed for me to take with me to new lands. Sadly, all I could do those first few months, was stare back and hope that the spices would magically unite to produce the aromatic chicken curry draped with the juicy onions and sweet tomatoes that I had come to enjoy back home. You could say this was my faith moment when all I was doing was looking up to the sky for an equivalent of a manna miracle, except the food would already be cooked and ready to serve at my tiny dinner table and I wouldn't have to run after quails.
Alas, I was not intended to receive that miracle instead grudginly made to start feeding myself with the fruits of my own labor. Quite literally that was all i ate those first few months after my brief affair with Mr. McDonalds and his greasy cheeseburgers.
Thus began my culinary adventure seven years ago - and when I say adventure I mean mini-fires, blaring smoke detectors, dragging a 16lb turkey across the carpet because it kept slipping off my hand, underestimating the power of one serrano pepper, and scrambled eggs swimming in turmeric powder.
Mercifully, somewhere along the way I discovered the joy of cooking for one and soon the joys of sharing the edibles with many. What started off as a tedious task had developed into a passive obsession - gluttony for all things edible, some may even call it gastronomic porn(which I consider the good kind). I can read and immerse myself in the same cookbook and not notice when dawn turns to dusk. If the food stylist has done a very good job of making me covet that sweet summery strawberry shortcake from its pages, then consider me a goner for the next hour or two.